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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028064">Soft as a sigh</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder'>WahlBuilder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Technomancer (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ohmygods they were quarantined</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:56:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When an epidemic comes to Ophir, Viktor and Anton decide to shelter together. To keep an eye on each other, of course. It's only logical to do that with your enemy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anton Rogue/Viktor Watcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Soft as a sigh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Absolutely self-indulgent. Contains scenes of illness but not graphic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts with a phone call, and quickly develops from there. They negotiate conditions, but once the major question of location is resolved to Anton’s grumbling and Viktor’s satisfaction, Anton surprises Viktor as he so often does: he takes Viktor to buy groceries, his reasoning going as “I want to feed you something you will actually eat, besides I don’t know whether you have any allergies, and—” etc., etc., and Viktor has a suspicion this is, as Henry would put it, a load of fucking bullshit.</p>
<p>While trying to pick some “fancy pasta” as Anton has instructed, Viktor catches a dialog. “Anton, are you disregarding your own orders and having a guest over?”</p>
<p>Viktor notes that people here don’t call Anton “sir” or use the patronymic—he’s just “Anton” for them. Interesting. Also, his own orders? He must ask Anton about that.</p>
<p>“No, that’s—” (Viktor can picture him rubbing the nape of his neck) “—he’s not a guest, he’s a... a friend and he will be staying over, we are sheltering together.”</p>
<p>A pause—then a gasp. “A boyfriend!”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>Viktor closes his eyes briefly, smiling at the delighted laughter and Anton’s protests.</p>
<p>On their way back, Viktor’s backpack loaded with groceries and Anton carrying another bag (canvas with a flower print), Anton’s face a little pink and Viktor pretending he doesn’t know why that is, he says: “I have noticed something interesting.”</p>
<p>“Mm? What is that?”</p>
<p>They are not walking wide apart—there is no reason to, since they are going to live together for several weeks or maybe months, if need be.</p>
<p>“There is no sign of panic-buying anywhere here. Either they put things on the shelves fast or...”</p>
<p>“Or,” Anton shrugs, “there wasn’t any panic-buying at all. Well. Just a little. The Slums have been on self-imposed, self-governed shelter-in-place lockdown for two weeks already, <em>mon Colonel</em>. We can’t wait for when the government decides to grace us with a sensible strategy. If the epidemic sees exponential spread <em>here</em>, the streets will turn into cemeteries. There’s not enough medical capacity for us.”</p>
<p>Viktor notes that “we” and how it stings him, making him feel as though Anton places him into “them”. However, it would be only logical, wouldn’t it? They are enemies. Viktor is an enemy to Anton’s people.</p>
<p>“It is all well-organized,” Viktor says without even a hint of irony or insincerity.</p>
<p>Anton shrugs again. “If you get clear information and recommendations to people, and stay transparent with your actions, they will maintain order, and more. Besides, the Slums survive through communities even without such a crisis. Everyone <em>has</em> to stick for each other. Otherwise, we are doomed.”</p>
<p>They walk a few paces more, then Anton adds in a neutral tone: “And the first bastards who wanted to profit from it and hoarded supplies, got warning shots through the knees, so that, I think, was good prophylaxis for anyone else who was entertaining the same notions.”</p>
<p>Viktor chuckles. “And with bad knees, they are less likely to wander about.”</p>
<p>“See? You get it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Viktor finds himself looking forward to unpacking the groceries. All the ingredients he wouldn’t even think to buy himself but which Anton asked his opinion on. What does Anton want to do with a lime? It is so green and smells… exciting.</p>
<p>“Viktor? Do you prefer your breakfast constant, your lunch, or your dinner? Or all three?”</p>
<p>He takes a box of spinach pasta, dark-green, out of his backpack. “Constant?”</p>
<p>Anton is moving things into the fridge. As far as Viktor can see, it is already half-loaded. Anton must have spaced out his restocking, to not add to the panic situation. If Viktor knows Anton as a person at all, he’d say that Anton was more worried about shop workers being overloaded than about his own food security.</p>
<p>“I mean, repeating? Do you have the same breakfast every day?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t reply right away, and Anton stops, hands midway to the fridge, then looks at Viktor with suspicion clear on his face. “You <em>do</em> have breakfast, do you?”</p>
<p>“Usually.” The answer is neat enough, he thinks. Nicely rounded. Can be interpreted a number of ways.</p>
<p>Anton narrows his eyes. “Usually. Alright. And lunch?”</p>
<p>“Usually?” If it’s his second meal in a day, that <em>must</em> count as lunch.</p>
<p>Anton licks his lips. Viktor braces himself for scolding or for arguments. But Anton says: “Will you be okay with having breakfast and lunch with me? And dinner. You don’t have to.”</p>
<p>Viktor didn’t expect to even have such a conversation with Anton Rogue, his headache number one—but here they are. And Anton is so considerate of him. He nods slightly. “Yes. I’d love to. If that’s alright.”</p>
<p>Anton appears relieved, resuming unpacking. “Oh, more than. I like cooking for someone else. Tell me what you like, or maybe what you want to try, or we can look for some interesting recipes. I was asking because, well, it’s important to maintain a routine, and mealtimes are sort of, you know, key points in a routine.”</p>
<p>Viktor takes out a can of... Coconut milk? Does it taste like coconut? He never tried it. “I don’t have fixed meal times. I simply...” He trails off.</p>
<p>Food is just... Fuel. Isn’t it? Sometimes it’s an annoying chore, and he isn’t good at cooking at all. Too few of shared dinners and lunches are associated with good things, in his memories. What if sharing meals with Anton would be like those many worse times? For both of them.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Viktor, I’m making it more complicated than it should be,” Anton murmurs. “I would like you to be comfortable as much as possible. Please tell me if something is wrong?”</p>
<p>He looks at Anton, and sees... uncertainty? “I will, Anton Yakovlevitch.”</p>
<p>Color rises to Anton’s cheeks so fast Viktor worries for a moment that Anton might faint. “Just ‘Anton’, please,” Anton says, turning back to the fridge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Viktor can never get used to moving around, even though he has to do so quite often for work. He has established a routine of sorts to keep his sanity in such cases: an exact list of things he takes, a precise way he packs and unpacks, the order in which he settles things on their temporary places. Anton tells him that “of course” he can put his things in the bathroom. So he takes his three bottles (the shampoo/shower gel, the shaving cream, the cologne), a small tube of his preferred toothpaste, and supplies (a green sponge, a safety razor, a small comb, a toothbrush), and goes to the bathroom.</p>
<p>And wonders how many people live with Anton. There are enough soaps... soaps, and <em>soaps</em>, though he assumes that some of those things might not be soaps? There are enough of them for an <em>army</em>. Opening the cabinet over the sink, he finds a cutthroat razor in a neat case with an oblong tin—shaving soap?—and then more of... soaps. He opens one tin and is met with a violently purple thing shaped like an eggplant, of all things, that smells like blueberries and caramel and lime. He closes it and returns it to its place, and wonders what he’s doing here.</p>
<p>“Viktor? You can place your things wherever.”</p>
<p>He looks at Anton standing in the doorframe, frowning a little. Worried? “I was just wondering...” He puts his toothbrush near Anton’s in a cup, then his razor with cassettes and shaving cream near Anton’s razor. “Are all of those soap?”</p>
<p>Anton blinks. “Wh— Oh!” The change on his face is immediate, worry brightening away and a smile glowing. Anton is fascinating to watch. “No, only some of them. I prefer things in solid form. Less packaging, and when I need to travel, I can cut off a bit, and there’s no threat of spillage. You can try anything you want.”</p>
<p>He looks around. There is a three-tiered rack in the corner of the bath stall, and more of tins and soap dishes lined along the wider edge of the tub. “And it’s probably economical. But isn’t here enough things to last for years?”</p>
<p>Anton rubs the nape of his neck. “Yeah, I know. But they all smell so wonderful and feel very good. Showering is one of those things...” He wiggles his fingers in the air.</p>
<p>Viktor smiles. “That ‘reset’ one’s mind.”</p>
<p>Anton’s eyes brighten even more. “Exactly! You wash the day off. So why not make it fun?” Just as quickly, Anton’s expression changes again, into beautiful tenderness. “And Ez... Ezrah, he’s the youngest among my first. He hates bathing. Had bad memories about his hair treated with kerosene, and... Just hated it. But I didn’t want to force him, to threaten him—it’s wrong to teach a kid through fear and violence, to make a kid fear you. So I brought him—it was the first such shop in the city—brought him to that shop and said he could choose absolutely anything. I blew a <em>lot</em> of money that day, and we had to pack it in three huge bags: soaps and shower gels and bath bombs and massage oil and what have you, like three-fours of the range of the shop? But he loved it.” Anton chuckles quietly. “He threw two bath bombs at the same time, and the bath was full of glitter and smelled of oranges for a <em>week</em>.”</p>
<p>Viktor notices he’s smiling, too. It’s contagious, this quiet warmth. “Bath bombs?”</p>
<p>Anton shakes himself, emerging from memories. “Oh, you haven’t tried them?”</p>
<p>“I’m not even sure what they are,” he admits.</p>
<p>Anton’s eyes light up with mischief. “I don’t have baths often, don’t have the patience, but you definitely should try, I have several bombs, including three with glitter. It’s made from algae and, in one case, sugar, so don’t worry, it’s not some nasty plastic.”</p>
<p>Viktor chuckles. “You talk about it with such enthusiasm that I do want to try. I like baths.”</p>
<p>Anton lifts his hands. “Wonderful! I’ll show you where they are. But now, don’t you want anything to eat? I’d make us a quick bite before I set on making proper lunch.”</p>
<p>Viktor nods. “I’m starving.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first night, lying in the guest room on wonderfully soft sheets that subtly smell of grass, under a warm, heavy duvet, Viktor doesn’t know what to think. What to think of all the things he has experienced. Anton’s life, his <em>hunger</em> for life is fascinating—but Viktor doesn’t feel pressured. Anton offers but doesn’t force, always explicitly saying that Viktor can say no to anything. Giving Viktor options, making him understand that he, too, makes decisions here, even when they are about dinner or when to go to bed.</p>
<p>Anton is energetic—but at the same time... Reserved? Subdued? Quiet? Viktor tries to find the right word. It isn’t <em>overwhelming</em>. Viktor doesn’t feel like he has to cut parts of himself to fit all this; he doesn’t feel like Anton is trying to reshape him or that Anton is judging him. He tries not to explore too closely the emerging fact that maybe they are not that different; that maybe, they understand each other better than anyone else. It is only on the surface that they appear to be vastly different. And it is dangerous, that thought; it is dangerous that Viktor finds himself not merely observing, but <em>participating</em>. Not overanalyzing, but <em>experiencing</em>.</p>
<p>They are enemies, he reminds himself. Yes, the saved each other several times already; yes, there is mutual respect; yes, there is this self-isolation arrangement. But they are still enemies.</p>
<p>...He wants to try a bath bomb.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>To keep in shape and take their mind off things, they go out once a day to a secluded spot they’ve found nearby, and have a little spar. And it is both helping and <em>not helping at all</em>.</p>
<p>It is Viktor’s idea. He notices that Anton is listless, twitchy, picking this thing and that, poking at his tablet, washing dishes until there is absolutely nothing to wash anymore... Viktor recalls that people are allowed to exercise together if they share the household. So he suggests to go out and do it.</p>
<p>This proves to be a spectacularly terrible and at the same time wonderful idea.</p>
<p>They find a small yard mostly free of debris and covered in early grass, and he sees Anton rolling his neck and shoulders and that sharp, predatory expression shifting his face—and Viktor’s blood runs faster.</p>
<p>He is even happier when he realizes that Anton doesn’t intend to hold back. They toss around, nasty and vicious and just that close to being deadly—until Anton slams him into the wall, hitching his elbow <em>up</em> behind his back, fingers in Viktor’s short hair (holding him so that Viktor doesn’t smash his face on the wall?), and Viktor has only a moment to try to break out of it through some leg work—when a police siren blares too close and Anton hisses, jumping away.</p>
<p>Viktor reels, his mind still filled with all kinds of concepts and half-thoughts, and he turns around just in time to hear Anton swearing thickly under his breath, and to see a police officer coming to them.</p>
<p>“What is happening here? There is a lockdown, you should go back home!”</p>
<p>Viktor tries to straighten his turtleneck, his skin hot and too tight, feeling a prickling of annoyance at having been interrupted. “Officer, that’s alright, we are just exercising. We live together.”</p>
<p>The officer doesn’t look convinced. They glance at Anton—who doesn’t even try to fix his T-shirt or pick up his jacket. Viktor notices how the officer’s gaze flickers briefly at the black jacket, and they clench their jaw. This is the Slums. Vory territory, lockdown or not.</p>
<p>Anton takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, officer, we live together. Exercising. It’s allowed. Now fu— please leave.”</p>
<p>The officer looks between them again, then nods. “Remember, you can’t exercise far away from home or more than once a day.” Then, they leave.</p>
<p>Anton bends down to pick up his jacket—and jumps with another hiss when the siren blares again. “Fuck! Hate that sound.”</p>
<p>Viktor imagines that most people are disturbed by this sound here. He should send the PD a strong “suggestion” that they use some other way to remind people of the lockdown.</p>
<p>“We need to find a different place,” Anton grumbles.</p>
<p>Viktor agrees. “Anton, are you alr—” He nearly bites his tongue, because. Because Anton <em>stretches</em>. That is, bends forward, folding nearly in half right on the spot, and then straightens up slowly, reaching forward on the upward move, arms in front of himself, muscles rolling, and the T-shirt is a little bit <em>too thin</em>, and Viktor... Viktor doesn’t know what to do with it.</p>
<p>Anton is as luxuriously graceful as most cats. More than them, even.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Viktor wakes up. He isn’t certain what is wrong: he hasn’t had a nightmare, he sleeps very, very well here, and there are no sounds indicating danger... But something <em>is</em> wrong.</p>
<p>He gets out of bed, wraps himself in a silken robe with peonies Anton has given him (it smells subtly of peonies, too), takes his gun just in case, and pads out. There is nobody in the bathroom or in the corridor, but he sees and smells smoke of Anton’s cigarettes coming from the kitchen. He returns to the guest room, leaves the gun on the bedside table, and goes to the kitchen.</p>
<p>Anton is seated by the table, smoking what appears to be the second cigarette already. Noticing Viktor, he hastens to stub it out. “Oh, Vitya! Sorry, I must have woken you up?”</p>
<p>Viktor frowns. Anton sounds raspy and... wrong. Flat. “Not with smoking. I felt that something was wrong. <em>Is</em> something wrong?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Anton rubs his face with both palms. Then gets up abruptly. “I’ll make you melissa tea, so you go to sleep fast?”</p>
<p>“That’s not...” he trails off.</p>
<p>Anton seems to need to move, so Viktor sits down on the couch, closing the robe tighter around himself.</p>
<p>What could have woken Anton? A nightmare? Viktor can imagine Anton has his own terrors. He has learned already that Anton is very... <em>human</em>. And doesn’t consider himself all-powerful or infallible.</p>
<p>Anton exhales and leans with his forehead to a cupboard door. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>Viktor desperately wants to walk to him and do something ill-advised, like wrap his arms around Anton from behind. “Tell me, maybe I can help,” he says instead.</p>
<p>Anton takes another deep breath, lets it out. Then takes their mugs, rinses them, fills a kettle. “I received a message from one of... one of mine. He’s in a camp right now. ‘Uncle, we are all going to die here.’ And I can’t help any of them. They are...” He lets out a hiss. “And they won’t even stop sending people to the camps: hearings are still being held.”</p>
<p>“Justice must be—”</p>
<p>“<em>Justice</em>?” Anton huffs, glancing at him, and Viktor sees something he has almost forgotten about: Anton’s naked hatred. It is gone in a flash, but on Viktor it lingers like a burn. “There is no justice in Abundance, my <em>dear</em> Colonel. There will be only graves—if even that.”</p>
<p>He licks his lips, leans forward. “I’m sure that in the camps, they know of the situation and they are prepared for it.”</p>
<p>Anton shakes his head. “You don’t know what it’s like, getting pneumonia there. You know where most cases of tuberculosis are acquired in Abundance? In the camps. They are right to be angry and to be scared. This is a death sentence.”</p>
<p>“I’ll see what I can do,” he says quietly.</p>
<p>Anton whirls around. “I don’t want your charity, Viktor!” he hisses, fingers curled like claws. “I want Abundance to stop treating people like fucking <em>things</em>!” Then his eyes widen, and lowers his hands, and draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “...Gods. Fuck. I’m sorry. I know it treats you like that, too, and that you are... <em>Both</em> of us are products of the system. I’m sorry I’m all... hissy here.”</p>
<p>Viktor tries to push past his own fears, and bitterness, and sadness. “You don’t have to apologize.”</p>
<p>Anton nods. “I do. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I do want to help.”</p>
<p>“What can you really do about it, Viktor?”</p>
<p>“Quite a lot. And meanwhile I <em>should</em> apologize. I... didn’t think about it this way. I didn’t think about people in the camps at all.”</p>
<p>Anton waves, turning back to the task of making tea.</p>
<p>Viktor weighs possibilities—and gets up. He goes to Anton and closes his arms around him carefully. “I’m truly sorry.”</p>
<p>Anton is rigid, and it’s enough that Viktor starts panicking—but then the Vor leans into the embrace, turns his head. Covers Viktor’s arm with his hand. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>After half an hour, Viktor succeeds in making Anton go back to sleep. He spends another thirty minutes doing a little research and planning, then picks his phone. The ringing goes on and on, but he is in no rush.</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>Viktor leans back, one of Anton’s cigarettes in hand. “Chief Justice? Director Watcher speaking.”</p>
<p>There is a small pause on the other end of the line, then: “Viktor? It’s... four in the morning, are you at work?”</p>
<p>“Depends. Like most citizens must be, I am sheltering at home, but it doesn’t mean I’m not working. How is your leg?”</p>
<p>“Surprisingly good. But I am <em>not</em> surprised that you are working, Viktor.”</p>
<p>He smiles. Chief Justice Malek Lawman, eighty-four, one of the most respected Lawmen in Abundance—and one of the very few people whom Viktor would trust to do the right thing.</p>
<p>“But what is the matter, Viktor?”</p>
<p>He takes a drag, closes his eyes. “I know this is not my field, but I noticed the Assembly has immediately dismissed a proposal for better quarantine measures in the camps and for sending people with light and mild sentences back home or at least relocating them out of the camps. Don’t you think that dismissal is unconstitutional?”</p>
<p>Another pause. Then a sigh. “Viktor, your idealistic views would get the better of you one day.”</p>
<p>“Nothing idealistic here,” he murmurs, only a bit theatrical. “Just practicality. We are going to have riots, Chief Justice, and... it’s wrong. Many of those people have frail health as it is, and you know the quality of medical help there. We might as well start digging mass graves for them. They have received their punishment. We cannot add terror and death sentence to it. They are quite literally at the mercy of the state.”</p>
<p>“Viktor—”</p>
<p>He takes another drag. “I’m not pressing you, of course. Just thought you’d like to know my opinion, in private.”</p>
<p>Malek sighs again. Viktor does trust him to think about it. Malek is conservative and patriotic—but he isn’t stupid and he is incorruptible and not afraid to go against the Dowser, the party, the opinion of the Assembly. He truly believes in justice and laws—but he listens to his conscience, too.</p>
<p>“I cannot bring it up,” Malek says at last. “Not officially.”</p>
<p>Thank fuck, as Anton would say. “But if someone else brings it up at the High Court?”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>He smiles. “Oh, just one nobody called the Director of the ASC.”</p>
<p>Malek laughs. “Haven’t you got enough enemies already among the high and mighty?”</p>
<p>“Enemies make one’s life interesting. I’ll bring the case right in the morning.”</p>
<p>“The idealism of youth! But you are doing the right thing, Viktor. Keep it up. Abundance needs more people like you. Take care!”</p>
<p>“You, too, Chief Justice. Can’t wait to hold the very first teleconferenced High Court hearing. Good night!”</p>
<p>He feels a little dizzy but, after working through four drafts in sequence, he has the final text of the appeal. He reads it again, sends it to Henry to review and to forward it officially from the Director. Then turns off his tablet and leans back on the couch.</p>
<p>He wants to curl up like this, still wrapped in Anton’s robe and surrounded by the subtle flowery scent, sweet and gentle. <em>Vitya.</em> He likes it very much, even though he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t fall into assumptions, shouldn’t think as though he knows Anton, as though... As though each of them is the only one who can fully understand the other. But he knows so much about Anton now, the details of his everyday life, and doesn’t know what to do with it. Anton is so warm. He can be violent, terrifying—but what he is, is this warmth.</p>
<p>Viktor has personally met many gangsters, bosses. And most of the older ones only simulate warmth. Scrape the surface—and you discover that the warmth is only because they are rotting inside. They care about their families only because those families are their property, part of their status, their toys.</p>
<p>Anton is...</p>
<p><em>Vitya</em>. He buries his face in his hands, smiling.</p>
<p>“Vitya? What— Wait, you haven’t slept?”</p>
<p>He rubs his face, trying to wipe off his smile, and looks up. Anton is frowning at him, looking very domestic in an old T-shirt and soft pants and barefoot. There is a red mark on his cheek from a pillow.</p>
<p>“I worked,” Viktor tells him. “I’m helping! It will produce some results, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“What I need you to produce right now is some sleep. It’s seven o’clock!” Anton goes to the table, looking at Viktor’s tablet, his black book—and the full ashtray. “Fuck, and you have smoked what, about half of a pack? You might get yourself sick!” ‘</p>
<p>Hm. This explains dizziness.</p>
<p>He grabs a throw pillow from the corner of the couch seat, and hugs it. It is too early for triumph, but he does feel proud of his plan and his appeal text and the call to the Chief Justice.</p>
<p>Anton chuckles. It’s a soft sound, a little like his purring. “You can tell me about it later. How about this: I’ll make us light breakfast, then you will go sleep a while, and then, when you wake up, we will have a fuller breakfast or even lunch. How does this sound?”</p>
<p>He rocks a little, thinking. This does sound sensible, and now that Anton talks about it, he feels the warm blanket of sleepiness enveloping him. “Sounds good.”</p>
<p>He must have drifted off, because everything feels warm and soft—when a hand touches his head lightly. “Thank you.” He turns his face and nuzzles Anton’s wrist before the hand disappears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After breakfast, tucked in bed, floaty, Viktor picks his phone and messages Henry:</p>
<p>&gt; Is it normal to want to kiss someone?</p>
<p>It takes him a while to type the message, with sleep calling to him.</p>
<p>&lt; I see you were hard at work.</p>
<p>&lt; Yes, usually it’s normal.</p>
<p>&lt; What happened?</p>
<p>He starts the reply—and can’t really say. It’s... everything.</p>
<p>&gt; I don’t want to leave.</p>
<p>But he will have to. It doesn’t matter what he wants or doesn’t want. It never mattered.</p>
<p>&lt; It’s Anton, isn’t it?</p>
<p>&lt; Vik?</p>
<p>He types fast and then flips his phone over.</p>
<p>&gt; Forget I said anything.</p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up already familiar with the feeling of relaxation and rest and comfort, even though he’s not at his apartment and there are voices—</p>
<p>
  <em>Voices?</em>
</p>
<p>He reaches to the window, peels back the thick curtain. It’s bright day. Ah, he worked until morning and then Anton... He puts on soft pants and a T-shirt borrowed from Anton, and goes into the corridor. Hears voices again. Are they having guests? But... No, they are not. By interference and certain other noises he realizes Anton must be talking to his people over the network.</p>
<p>Viktor tries to stay quiet, moves closer to the kitchen door, only half-open.</p>
<p>Anton chuckles. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“And your guest?”</p>
<p>“He’s fine, too, and asleep, so don’t be so loud.”</p>
<p>“Oooh, the Scary Man is going to wake up and arrest us?”</p>
<p><em>Scary Man</em>? That must be him. Viktor smiles to himself.</p>
<p>“If you keep at it, he might. <em>Vous étudiez?</em>”</p>
<p>A chorus of affirmative noises.</p>
<p>Anton makes a purring sound. “<em>Bien</em>. Remember—”</p>
<p>“—it is important to keep as much of normal life as we can,” a chorus replies, and erupts in snickers.</p>
<p>“Very good,” Anton snorts. “Make sure you actually try to do that. What about D-Twenty-Nine?”</p>
<p>“We met with the gang bosses, Boss, and explained the rules again.”</p>
<p>“<em>Bien</em>. If people keep going to the streets there, tell me and I’ll come and yell at them. Or yell at them over the Internet.”</p>
<p>“You don’t ever yell!”</p>
<p>Anton huffs. “Well, I can hiss and swear at them. Maybe they’ll listen.”</p>
<p>“<em>Mais, mais, Pa</em>,” the younger voice who called Viktor <em>The Scary Man</em> says, “why is he asleep? It’s the middle of the day! Isn’t he supposed to be ever-vigilant?”</p>
<p>“He worked hard all night, and was very tired, so I sent him to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Make sure you don’t overwork, too.”</p>
<p>“I’m keeping all the reminders, and he refuses to go to bed if I don’t go, too. It’s mutually beneficial. Alright, I need to start making lunch. Keep me posted on everything. I love you all very much. Look after each other.”</p>
<p>“We love you, too!”</p>
<p>“And say hi to the Scary Man!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Since Viktor’s late-night/early-morning work has already derailed their morning routine, he suggests they try to salvage the rest of the day and go out for a spar. It is the kind of day when it is warm while the sun is out, and very cold when it sets. Anton stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns his face to the sun—then breaks into a run and <em>runs up the wall</em> of their new sparring place, and does a somersault. Viktor blinks, and imagines what he can tell Henry and Jeff about it: <em>Today, my cat was so restless because of me not playing with him, that he started running up the walls.</em> Then he realizes how it would read, especially the “play” part, and discards the thought.</p>
<p>The spar itself doesn’t go well, however. Viktor is... distracted.</p>
<p>He can neither focus and be analytical, nor let go and allow his body to act on instinct. He focuses too much on the way Anton’s muscles roll and tattoos shift, the way sunlight makes Anton’s eyes golden, the way...</p>
<p>...Anton pins him to the ground, hovering a few breaths away from Viktor’s face, close enough that Viktor feels his exhales. His skin is too tight and too hot, and he wants <em>something</em>, but doesn’t know what. To work together, not <em>against</em>. Dancing? No, no, impossible. He can’t suggest it. He can’t... anything. He wants Anton to tighten the grip on his wrists, he wants to ask Anton to help him with this... this tension, this <em>something</em>.</p>
<p>“Vitya? Are you alright?” Anton’s eyes search his face. One hand moves, and Anton presses the back of his palm to Viktor’s forehead. It takes every bit of will Viktor has to not lean into the touch. “Your temperature is elevated.”</p>
<p>“That’s...” He swallows, his throat dry. Probably because of dust. “Normal for me. And we’ve been sparring.”</p>
<p>“Hm. Right. You don’t seem yourself.” Anton lets him go and gets up. He’s been keeping his weight off Viktor, holding him down only by the wrists—and Viktor wishes it was full-body contact. Anton is heavy, he knows.</p>
<p>Anton rolls his shoulders and offers him a hand. Viktor can see that this isn’t enough for Anton, and feels a prickling of guilt. He’s ruined the day even further. He takes Anton’s hand, and Anton pulls him up like he weighs nothing.</p>
<p>Anton tilts his head, watching him. Viktor wants to turn away. He doesn’t know what to say, what to plan right now. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and he doesn’t like it.</p>
<p>“Let’s go home, Vitya,” Anton says, his voice soft—the way Viktor doesn’t deserve it. “I think I know what might help. You want to try a bath bomb?”</p>
<p>The suggestion and the smile in Anton’s voice, on his face, scare those uncertainties away, and he chuckles. “The day is strange anyway, isn’t it? So why not. I want one of the glittery bombs.”</p>
<p>The walk back is better somewhat. Viktor is still restless, itchy in some indescribably way, but they are walking close, their shoulders brushing, and it is very comforting. He hopes Anton’s won’t notice and won’t move away as he does too often when he becomes aware of their proximity. But Viktor wouldn’t be able to say where exactly they walked, what they’ve seen. He spends the short walk imagining whether he could ask Anton to share a bath. It’s ridiculous and wrong, but as long as he keeps it to himself and tries to understand what is going on with him, it isn’t catastrophic, right? Just strange thoughts.</p>
<p>He stops when Anton suddenly stops, and looks to his companion to ask why. Anton has his hands on his hips. “What are you doing there?”</p>
<p>Viktor follows his gaze and sees three teenagers frozen on the street, a guilty expression immediately descending on their faces.</p>
<p>“We were just—”</p>
<p>“Just what?” Anton hisses. Indeed, it seems he never yells.</p>
<p>Viktor tries to hide a smile that’s tugging at his lips.</p>
<p>“You know what’s at stake, don’t you? Your own lives, lives of your friends, your families, your <em>community</em>! It isn’t that hard, staying at home, is it?”</p>
<p>“But, Uncle—”</p>
<p>Anton raises his brows and finger. “Uncle—what?”</p>
<p>The trio exchanges glances, then say in unison: “We understand, Uncle Anton.”</p>
<p>Anton tilts his head. “Understand what?”</p>
<p>“That... That we should go home and stay home for now.”</p>
<p>Anton nods. “Good. Remember: lives are in your hands. Take responsibility.” They look even more miserable, and Anton adds: “You <em>can</em> go out, but try to keep your distance from each other, alright? Play ball one-on-one or have a walk. Look after each other.”</p>
<p>They perk up and repeat with more enthusiasm: “We understand, Uncle Anton.” And scatter into different ends of the street.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Anton is opening the door, a neighbor says: “Anton, how—” Then they look at Viktor, a question big on their face.</p>
<p>Viktor smiles his charming smile and puts a hand on Anton’s shoulder. “Good afternoon. I’m Anton’s friend.”</p>
<p>Color suffuses Anton’s face so much even the tips of his elfin ears turn red. “Yes, he’s... We live together.”</p>
<p>The neighbor smirks. “Ah. Wonderful. Thank you for your hard work, Anton.”</p>
<p>Anton waves and quickly retreats into the apartment.</p>
<p>Viktor steps after him and closes the door. He doesn’t feel the scent of Anton’s apartment anymore—it has become familiar. “Vitya— Fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t call you that.”</p>
<p>“You can,” he takes off his jacket, his shoes. “I like how it sounds.”</p>
<p>Anton’s face is still a little pink. “Oh. Okay. How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>He walks to the bathroom, washes his hands. “Still eager to try a bath bomb.”</p>
<p>Anton nods, lifting his hand...</p>
<p>Viktor grabs him by the wrist. “No touching your face before you wash your hands.” Anton’s wrist is broad, the right one covered with tattoos, with bracelets in addition to tattoos on the left.</p>
<p>Anton smiles. “You are right. But we both have to wash our hands now.”</p>
<p>They barely fit together in front of the sink, and Viktor is too aware that he could bend to Anton and—</p>
<p>“Twenty seconds!”</p>
<p>He rubs his fingers diligently, his lips aching for a kiss.</p>
<p>Then Anton turns the facet to the bath. “Try the temperature, Vitya?”</p>
<p>He does, then makes it hotter.</p>
<p>Anton walks out, taking off his jacket, too, and hanging it on a hook while Viktor’s is on a hanger. “Vitya, do you want anything for the bath? Tea? Cocoa?”</p>
<p>“After!” He puts the plug in and sits on the edge, watching water run. He’s going to take a bath with a bath bomb—is that like bath salt? At his enemy’s apartment. And then drink tea with that enemy, and have dinner, and work, and maybe even sketch that enemy a little. Then he will go to sleep, and rest well... Or maybe not. Maybe he <em>should</em> kiss Anton. Suggest... No. <em>Seduce</em>. Maybe this proximity is what’s breaking something in him, making him think it’s one of <em>those</em> missions.</p>
<p>What a whore you are, Viktor.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, fighting nausea.</p>
<p>No, Anton isn’t a mark right now. And anyway, Anton tries to keep his distance, moves away immediately when he notices they are too close... And a few casual touches and that embrace are nothing. Anton knows what Viktor is, and despises him. What he does.</p>
<p>He feels the scent before Anton calls him—again—like that: <em>Vitya</em>. Nobody calls him that. “As you asked: glitter bombs! Though... bath bombs, not the usual glitter bombs.”</p>
<p> Viktor makes himself smile—then drops it. Anton can tell when he’s faking it, though Viktor doesn’t know how. He turns to Anton.</p>
<p>His Vor is holding a tray, of sorts, with four half-spherical depressions. Three of them contain bath bombs—rather huge, one beautifully green-blue, another deep violet, and the other peachy, even with a small green leaf and with specks of gold here and there. They smell like... like being hit by a train would feel, only in smells.</p>
<p>Anton points at the bombs: “This is the peach, it actually smells flowery and like, uh, cupcakes? It’s very subtle on the skin, and it has gold glitter. This one,” he points at the green-blue sphere, “smells like the ocean—supposedly, I’ve never been to the ocean, so I can’t tell. Makes your skin very soft, and has pretty white-ish glitter, makes you look like you have little shimmery scales. It is a rather energizing smell. I suggest you this one,” he points at the third, purple bomb. “It has lavender oil and smells like chamomile a little, and lavender, and all the good stuff that puts you to sleep, but also it has a bit of cinnamon, so it warms your muscles, makes you relax. And it looks spectacular. Which one do you want?”</p>
<p>He picks the peach, sniffs. Its scent, indeed, reminds him of pastries, surprisingly, and... like peonies on Anton’s silk robe. It feels dry and a little brittle in his hand, and leaves bits of glitter on his palm. “The purple one.”</p>
<p>Anton’s face lights up. “The galaxy!” He looks around Viktor. “And the bath is almost full! It pays to wait a little until you have a full bath.” Then Anton rocks on his heels. “Uh. You should... You know. Undress. Jump right into the bath when you throw the bomb.”</p>
<p>He looks at the bath, closes the faucet. “Simply throw it in?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Um.” Anton picks the purple sphere and moves it carefully onto the edge of the sink. “So, I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need anything. Oh, I’ll bring you your robe?”</p>
<p>Viktor nods. “Yes. Thank you.” He pulls his turtleneck off when Anton retreats. Strange. Is Anton so uncomfortable around him? He’ll try not to get undressed near his Vor, then.</p>
<p>The bomb smells wonderful, a deep... purple scent. He refrains from licking it, then holds it above the water—and drops it.</p>
<p>He comes out of astonished stupor only when Anton chuckles. “Fancy, isn’t it?” Viktor points at the... galaxy swirling in the tub. “Fancy doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and feels as though he’s being enveloped in a warm, cosy blanket. “If I don’t get out in thirty minutes, I might have fallen asleep.”</p>
<p>“I’ll check on you, Vitya. Have a nice bath!” Anton closes the door behind himself, and Viktor finishes undressing, then slips into water.</p>
<p>Bliss.</p>
<p>He splashes the water, enjoying the way glitter swirls and new waves of the thick aroma waft up. The tub is rather small—he thinks Anton would struggle to fit in himself—but it is enjoyable nonetheless, and he can pulls his knees to his chest and pretend he’s covered with a hot blanket. He lifts his arms. His skin is covered in purple and blue glitter, but it is subtle, giving him a shimmer. Anton said it’s algae, or sugar, so Viktor licks his forearm. It tastes... sweet, like lavender. Viktor doesn’t like changing scents, the times when he has to use a cologne different from his own, or a new toothpaste or a shower gel are distressing—but right now he’s enjoying himself very much.</p>
<p>He settles back and closes his eyes.</p>
<p>“Vitya? Are you alright there?”</p>
<p>He blinks. He must have dozed off—wouldn’t be the first time. This bomb is definitely relaxing. The tension from before has left his body. “Yes! Come in?”</p>
<p>Anton slips in quickly, and only a little of colder air enters the bathroom. He’s holding two steaming mugs. “You said, later, I know, but you’ve been here for thirty minutes, I thought maybe you’d like a drink.” Anton has changed into domestic clothes: soft gray pants and one of his worn T-shirts.</p>
<p>Viktor likes how comfortable Anton seems in his own skin. He doesn’t look like he has any worries about his height or his bulk. He carries himself with unselfconscious grace, he’s big and quiet and quick, but he can be fluid, too. Viktor wonders whether Anton realizes how handsome he is. He probably does, judging by how immaculately scandalous he dressed for a few high parties. Viktor liked those fancy attire choices, too.</p>
<p>He sits up, and Anton gives him a mug, then sits down on the rag on the floor, his back leaning on the tub.</p>
<p>Viktor inhales: the tea is, too, infused with lavender. “I see you are determined to put me to sleep, <em>Monsieur Le Chat</em>.”</p>
<p>“Seeing as I was the one to interrupt your night so badly, <em>Colonel Le Chien</em>, I’m trying to mend it. Do you like the bomb?”</p>
<p>He leans back, half-closing his eyes and sipping the tea. “Very much, thank you for bringing it to my attention. But isn’t using the whole bomb a little...” He can’t readily find a word. His head is filled with sparkly purple warmth.</p>
<p>“Expensive?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“You can use just a half, but, honesty, why not treat yourself now and again? You can survive on bare essentials, but, I know this on my own experience: it eats up your humanity. Even you stop considering yourself human when it’s nothing but bare survival. Treats are not an indulgence—they are essential, too, it’s that society makes poor people feel shame for it, framing pleasure as something non-essential.”</p>
<p>He likes this even more than Anton’s looks. The way Anton speaks his mind, freely talks about a range of topics. He doesn’t just react to things around himself—he analyzes them, studies them, forms an opinion, and he isn’t afraid to express it.</p>
<p>“I never thought about it like this,” Viktor admits. “That pleasure is essential. But where does the line lie? Between essential pleasure and... overabundance of it? Um. Hedonism?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I understand what you are trying to say. I don’t know. I think, maybe when it starts hurting yourself and others? Though in a way, every second of your existence is hurting someone, the world is shit that way. Maybe when pursuit of pleasure is used as a substitute for other important things? Like, hm...”</p>
<p>“Human connection?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. You know, like those big wigs who throw big parties or their poor kids drowning themselves in alcohol when actually they are not indulging themselves, they are trying to find a real connection with another human being. I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it this way either.”</p>
<p>Viktor opens his eyes, looking at Anton’s profile, Anton sipping tea and not seeming to be in a hurry to leave. Is all this an indulgence? An attempt to fill some void? Or is it essential?</p>
<p>No, it can’t be. Viktor is a weapon, an instrument—he serves his purpose and that is what’s important. But here he is, taking a luxurious fragrant bath while drinking lavender tea and talking about abstract matters.</p>
<p>“Vitya? How are your kids? Oh, I mean. Agents?”</p>
<p>He looks at the ceiling. “Some in self-isolation.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Everything alright?”</p>
<p>“They’ve returned from travels, and I told them to self-isolate as a precaution. No symptoms so far. Others sheltering-in-place and assisting the vulnerable.”</p>
<p>“Huh.”</p>
<p>“Some are prepared to step in and help medics. Many of us have basic medical training.”</p>
<p>“Figures.”</p>
<p>He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, tasting lavender. “One is in intensive care, on ventilation.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Oh, Vitya.”</p>
<p>He feels a tentative touch to his hand—Anton offering that bit of comfort. He slides his hand from the water and closes his fingers on Anton’s. It is, indeed, comforting, he doesn’t know why. “The, um... the previous time we talked...” He doesn’t want to say <em>the last time</em>, doesn’t want to even think the word. “She said goodbye. She could barely speak, each breath was an effort and a torture.” He wipes his face quickly. Forces himself to smile. “Fewer agents for you to worry about.”</p>
<p>Anton frowns, head turned to Viktor. “That’s what you think of me, huh.” Anton starts braiding their fingers, looks entirely focused on the task, smearing glitter over his own hand. “There are two huge problems with thinking of people, especially enemies, as monsters, my dear Colonel.” He nods to himself. “The first one is, if you tell yourself that those, say, driving your people into extreme poverty are monsters, you start to think that only monsters do bad things. And so it makes you less vigilant: that person isn’t a monster, how can they stab you in the back? It is easy to think of them as monsters, but one must—<em>I</em> must—to remind myself they are people. It’s people, <em>humans</em>, who hurt my kiddies; it’s human beings who casually sign orders to raid the poorest Slums, to cut off water because some family can’t afford to pay; it’s humans who drive up construction costs and build from the cheapest materials to stuff their own pockets and then send ‘thoughts and prayers’ when the building they’ve commissioned collapses, killing entire families. And if you think that ‘They’ are the monsters, naturally you think that you are nothing like them, yeah? And you think: oh, I’ll never do the things they do, because I’m human, I’m not a monster. And it’s a slippery slope. You allow yourself to lose vigilance over your own actions.</p>
<p>“Then,” he pauses and starts braiding their fingers in the opposite direction, “there is the second problem. Abundance <em>wants</em> us to dehumanize each other, and like fuck I’m going to let her. If I remember that all people, including politicians, the Dowser himself, are human, I know that they are not untouchable, not infallible. That they make mistakes, they have bias, they have weakness. It gives me power. But also... I should, I <em>must</em> remember that they have emotions. They have attachments, they can change, even if with many people that chance of that is very small. I must remember that,” Anton looks at Viktor briefly, “that they can love. I would eat the rich and shoot those who call us cockroaches and want us physically eradicated—but it must not be <em>easy</em> for me to do so. Killing must never be easy.”</p>
<p>Viktor watches Anton’s eyes.</p>
<p>Anton huffs. “I’m sorry. I talk too much.” His fingers start slipping from Viktor’s hand, and Viktor tightens his hold. “I enjoy talking with you.”</p>
<p>Anton drops his gaze. His cheeks are a little pink—probably from the heat in the bathroom. “Want to come out, Vitya? The water is getting cold.”</p>
<p>He wants to, but it would mean he’d have to let go of Anton’s hand. “Yes. I think I need to go out. I’m getting drowsy.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Anton squeezes his fingers before getting up and taking both mugs. “Want to help me to make a peach cobbler? You cut fruit into wonderfully even slices.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “I’m all in.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Viktor wakes up unsure of where he is. On a mission? This isn’t his apartment...</p>
<p>But his focus slips. He feels <em>broken</em>. So bad, like he only feels after “debriefing” by the Board with the use of an especially terrible cocktail of truth serums. As though his bones are melting from heat, and his heart has been hooked and dragged higher, into his throat. He feels unable to move, trapped in his own body.</p>
<p>“Vitya, are you aw— <em>Vitya</em>. Fuck.”</p>
<p>He’s with Anton. He isn’t alone.</p>
<p>A cold, wonderfully cold hand touches his forehead, his neck. “Fuck, you are burning.”</p>
<p>He forces himself to look at Anton, his eyes wide with worry and fear and... knowledge. “Anton,” he manages to rasp. His tongue is thick in his mouth. “Leave.”</p>
<p>“Like fuck,” Anton hisses, takes out his phone. “I’m calling a doctor, and I’m staying with you.”</p>
<p>“Tosha...”</p>
<p>“If it’s <em>that</em>, then I’m a carrier, too.”</p>
<p>He tries to reach out but it’s so hard, he <em>must</em> convince Anton to leave...</p>
<p>Anton looks at him again, eyes bright, wet, and shakes his head. “I won’t leave you to deal with this alone. Okay? I’m staying with you.” He touches Viktor’s face again, and Viktor shudders. It feels so good. “They’ll do the tests, and then we’ll know, and I will go with you to the hospital if need be, okay? Or just stay with you here and take care of you.”</p>
<p>“Tosha.” He manages to slide one hand from under the duvet, grabs Anton’s wrist.</p>
<p>“I’m here, sweet one, I’m here.”</p>
<p>He tugs—and Anton understands, of course he does, and gets onto the bed, pulling Viktor’s head to his chest, stroking his face, his neck—so very good. Viktor hears, like in a dream, Anton speaking with someone, listing symptoms, breaking into hisses—but never saying his name. Never... pulling Viktor’s rank. Viktor is filled with gratitude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the swab is taken (ow), Anton brings him hot tea and a slice of the cobbler they’ve made yesterday together, settles with him on the bed, talking him into having another bite, another sip... Time stretches and contracts at irregular intervals, only Anton’s hand stroking his head provides him some sense of rhythm.</p>
<p>He stirs when Anton’s phone buzzes, presses himself closer to Anton as Anton picks it up. The call is rather long, with Anton mostly silent, listening. Then Anton lowers his phone on the bed, and wraps both arms around Viktor. He lifts his head.</p>
<p>Anton smiles. “Good thing we have so much food already, don’t we?”</p>
<p>He sighs, dropping his head on Anton’s chest. His mind is clearer, but the muscle aches are terrible. He wants to stretch, to fight, to have a massage, but isn’t sure he can survive any of those things. “Both of us?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. Our confinement has just been prolonged for at least two more weeks. Fun, right? Only we can’t go out to spar.”</p>
<p>“We can stay here?”</p>
<p>“Yes, unless our state worsens significantly. We are staying home, sweet one.”</p>
<p>Viktor sighs in relief. It’s better here.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how to describe it properly. “Like I’m falling apart and my bones are outgrowing muscles. But,” he hastens to say when Anton stirs, “manageable.”</p>
<p>“No, no, no, Vitya, I don’t want any of this crap. You hurt—you get help, alright?”</p>
<p>“And give you more weapons against your nemesis?” he tries to joke. It sounds terrible.</p>
<p>“Exactly that. I’m very resourceful and will take every opportunity to get more dirt on you.” Anton’s hand settles on the nape of his neck, chill and wonderful. “Are you certain you don’t want pills? Though, we should get your temperature first. I have to take it for you and myself and tell them when they call, each day. And we should relocate onto my bed, if you don’t mind, it’s bigger.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” It’s such a relief, to not need to think, to decide right now. To have someone to trust with all this.</p>
<p>Relocation becomes the first on their list, but when it is clear that Viktor isn’t very steady on his feet, Anton simply pushes the duvet off and picks him up. Viktor tells himself it must be his feverish imagination, and tries to remember what he’d tell anyone if he picked them up. Wrap arms around his neck? By the time he coordinates his limbs to do just that, Anton is already lowering him on the big bed. It seems <em>enormous</em> and smells of clean linen and flowers. Anton immediately builds a pile of pillows for him to lean onto, sticks a thermometer under his tongue, and goes off to the kitchen “for breakfast, Vitya, you must eat at least something”.</p>
<p>This <em>must</em> be a feverish dream.</p>
<p>He picks up his phone—when did Anton bring it?—and calls Henry. They answer immediately, and slowly, he explains the situation. They are so silent when he finishes his probably not very coherent explanation that he looks at his phone, worried they might have disconnected. But the call continues, and he puts it on speaker just in time to hear a muffled sob.</p>
<p>“I understand, Vik,” Henry says at last, their voice a little wavering. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call or text, alright? Is Anton there?”</p>
<p>“I’m here, Lieutenant!” Anton calls. He’s carrying a tray with mugs and tiny triangular sandwiches and a glass with what Viktor thinks is a smoothie. “I’ll look after him, and call you if situation changes.”</p>
<p>Another sob. “Ah. Thank you. And don’t dare to work, Vik!”</p>
<p>He manages a smile, even though Henry can’t see it. He should do a video call later, like Anton does with his kids. Oh. Anton is going to tell them, too, isn’t he. “I won’t, Henry. Take care of yourself. I...” Suddenly, he wants to say, <em>I love you</em>, but Henry knows and it would probably ruin them both if he says it aloud right now.</p>
<p>“Me, too,” Henry says quietly. “Look after each other.”</p>
<p>He falls back on the pillows. His head weighs like a full tank.</p>
<p>“Vitya, you need to eat.” A cold hand—he knows that it feels cold only because he’s feverish—touches the side of his face, and he sighs, leaning into this point of contact.</p>
<p>“I’ll try.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Viktor drifts off and on, aware he’s starting conversations and dropping them, but Anton doesn’t seem to mind, only urges him to drink more, to sleep more, asks how he’s feeling.</p>
<p> It’s getting dark when he wakes up to the lack of Anton and to Anton’s quiet voice in the corner. “I’ll do video call later, мышонок, I can’t now, he’s asleep and I can’t leave.” Pause. “Of course I love you!” Anton’s voice wavers, like Henry’s before, and Viktor sees him wiping his cheek quickly. “How can I not?” Another pause. “No, no, kitten, you can’t come, you hear me? You <em>can’t</em> come, don’t even think about it. We have everything we need so far, and you must— I know! I know, my little one. I’m scared, too. You don’t have to be strong all the time. I can’t either. But you must try, okay? If we fall, those who depend on us will fall, too. I— No, my boy, I can’t promise that. I won’t lie to you. I can’t, I’m sorry. You know I might die.” Anton takes a shaky breath. “But if I do, I’ll go proud of all you. I so, so much love you. Send my love to Žal, too. We’ll do video call later, promise. Bye.” Anton’s hand holding the phone drops—and he just stands there in the corner as darkness descends, and the last light catches on tears rolling down his cheeks. Then he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, wipes his cheeks furiously, pockets his phone.</p>
<p>Viktor wants to wrap himself around Anton.</p>
<p>He listens as Anton goes to the bathroom, probably to wash his hands. He washes them almost obsessively. Then Anton returns, slides under the duvet—and Viktor looks up at him. They watch each other.</p>
<p>Viktor doesn’t think Anton fears death—but he thinks Anton fears slow agony, and being at the mercy of someone else—at the mercy of the state which, they both know, has little compassion. Fears his demise bringing pain to those he loves; things unfinished and undone. Viktor has high fever and muscle aches like torture—but Anton, he knows, tries to hide that dreadful dry cough.</p>
<p>Viktor cups Anton’s cheek and kisses him on the lips—it is for comfort and for reassurance. <em>I’m here, you are not alone; I know what you are going through.</em> Then they settle back on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.</p>
<p>“When this is over,” Viktor says, “I will take you to the ocean, Tosha. You said you’d never seen it.”</p>
<p>Anton chuckles. “I can’t even swim.”</p>
<p>“I’ll teach you.”</p>
<p>“Alright. Promise?”</p>
<p>“Promise.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>He doesn’t wake up. Or he must be having hallucinations or a nightmare, it hurts so much to breathe and there’s a weight on his chest and he’s...</p>
<p>Dying.</p>
<p>There is that smell, of death, of antiseptic, and they are putting something into him, they are going to ruin him, he must fight...</p>
<p>“Fuck! Hold him—”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Shh, Vitya. Nous allons à l’océan, bien? Parce que nous sommes vraiment fatigués. Shhh...”</em>
</p>
<p>“Intubate!”</p>
<p>He focuses not on those ghost voices or the ghost scents, but on the soft, husky purr. <em>“But you have to breathe, Витенька. You have to breathe. You are going to teach me to swim, and one of the lessons is proper breathing, isn’t it?”</em></p>
<p>“Oxygen is—”</p>
<p>Yes. Yes, it is. Breathing is important. He wants to take Tosha to the ocean. Wants to tell Jeffrey he’s proud of him. Wants to hold Henry’s hand...</p>
<p>
  <em>“So breathe for me, sweet one. Breathe for me.”</em>
</p>
<p>He tries. It’s so hard, but he tries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is weak. He hasn’t felt this weak in... years, probably ever. He’s so weak that each intake of air is a monumental task. There is something in his throat, but he feels it’s helping him, though he can’t tell how. Thoughts are sloshing in his head, sludgy, sticky.</p>
<p>“...Vitya?”</p>
<p>If he could find the strength for it, he’d have cried at hearing Anton’s voice. Instead, he struggles to open his eyes—when a hand touches his forehead. It feels warm, and it’s trembling.</p>
<p>“Vitya. Vitya. <em>Es-tu</em>— Are you... Vitya.”</p>
<p>He opens his eyes. Barely. And sees Anton, real, ashen and gaunt, lips almost gray, stubble on his cheeks, making him look almost like a stranger. The cartilage of his ears seems thinner, and his eyelids are dark. And his eyes are wet. “Vitya,” Anton repeats, and his breath brushes Viktor’s cheek. He wants to lean to it—Anton’s hand is still on his forehead. Anton swallows. “Don’t try to speak.” He sounds rough, wet. “The cut hasn’t healed yet.</p>
<p>The cut? It seems, like before, he doesn’t have to speak, because Anton clarifies: “Your trachea. They put the tube... Vitya. You stopped breathing.”</p>
<p>Oh. So that’s what that was.</p>
<p>Anton strokes his forehead, tips of his fingers slide to Viktor’s cheekbones, mapping his face. “You were on ventilation for days. Vitya, I thought... I kept calling you.”</p>
<p>So that part wasn’t his imagination either. He is so weak and his heart fills to the brim, and he hopes Anton understands...</p>
<p>Anton smiles. “You can breathe on your own again. Your body is fighting it, and it’s leaving. I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p>He tries to smile at Anton treating him like others in his family. Then Anton kisses him on the forehead, and he closes his eyes. Anton is here. Tosha is here. “Rest. If you and I get stronger soon, they will let us go back home to sit out the rest of it. And we’ll see our kids soon.”</p>
<p>His kids. <em>Their</em> kids. Yes, it’s a good goal.</p>
<p>And the ocean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s still on a drip the next day, weak, but he can stay awake for longer than a few minutes. He is certain he wouldn’t have been making such progress if Anton hadn’t been here with him. Anton’s pneumonia isn’t as bad as his, but he is weak, too, needing to lie down now and again, even though it makes him growl and hiss. Their beds are close enough that they can hold hands. Even lace their fingers.</p>
<p>“Vitya.” A squeeze of his hand pulls him out of a doze.</p>
<p>Through the window, he sees Henry. Their hair is messy under the blue disposable cap, and half of their face is covered with a mask, but he can tell they haven’t been sleeping well. That they’ve been crying a lot. His heart tightens. Henry holds up their phone, and Viktor’s phone buzzes. He puts it on the speaker.</p>
<p>“Hi.”</p>
<p>Viktor smiles. “Hello, Henry.”</p>
<p>“Hello. And to you, too, Anton.”</p>
<p>Anton leans closer to the phone. “How are you, Henry?”</p>
<p>“Lots of work. I’m glad both of you are awake. Vik, the High Court unanimously voted for your objection. And more, Malek demanded that those prisoners who have to stay in the camps and made to sew medical masks are to be paid no less than minimum wage.”</p>
<p>He closes his eyes. “Let us hope we’ll keep that part when all this ends.”</p>
<p>Anton huffs. “So that was you, and that’s what you worked in the night for, you rascal.”</p>
<p>He finds the energy to smile, opening one eye at Anton. “I thought I was <em>Colonel Le Chien</em>?”</p>
<p>“Хрен редьки не слаще.”</p>
<p>“Это смотря чей хрен...”</p>
<p>Anton splutters in laughter, and Viktor hears Henry”s choked off guffaw. He looks at them—notices them looking back, eyes narrowed, then at Anton. Viktor doesn’t know what’s going on between Anton and himself. He only knows that... That Anton makes him want to keep breathing.</p>
<p>Henry quirks a brow. Viktor shakes his head lightly.</p>
<p>“I have other news,” Henry says as though nothing has happened. “Julita is out of intensive care. Her prognosis is good.”</p>
<p>Viktor holds onto Anton’s hand tight, needing something to ground him. “Thank you. For telling me.”</p>
<p>“And my little brother. I guess he contacted you?” Fifty-four messages from Jeffrey have been waiting for Viktor when he managed to wake up properly, their contents ranging from threats to promises to pleas. They cannot risk Jeffrey being compromised, and so he can’t call, can’t come here... But Viktor wonders whether the mission is worth it. He wishes he could see Jeffrey himself, talk to him, reassure him. “He did. We are keeping in touch.”</p>
<p>“Good. Alright, um, they are going to kick me out of here soon. Rest a lot!” But they linger. Viktor doesn’t want them to leave.</p>
<p>“Kiss Misha and Zhenya for me!” Anton says.</p>
<p>Before Viktor can wonder who those people are, Henry <em>blushes</em>, enough that it is visible above the edges of the mask. “I will! Bye!”</p>
<p>Viktor turns to Anton. “Misha and Zhenya?”</p>
<p>Anton’s eyes glint in mischief. “Not telling you! Ask them yourself, if you want.”</p>
<p>“I will.” Later, when Anton and he are out of here.</p>
<p>Anton’s face becomes softer, and... Their beds are close enough that Anton can kiss his hand. Viktor’s heart races. He curls his fingers, holding onto Anton tight. “Tosha.”</p>
<p>Anton smiles, tender. “Vitya.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Viktor is used to going from one point to another quickly. He knows the city fairly well, especially the Upper Ophir, but usually it’s the matter of reaching his destination. And now they are simply... strolling. Their first day out of the hospital. Still on quarantine, but the streets are so deserted it’s like only the two of them exist here.</p>
<p>They can’t go out too far. After leaving the hospital yesterday night, they spent most hours sleeping in each other’s arms, after they took a shower and scrubbed off the experience. Scrubbed it off each other. Viktor wasn’t certain he wouldn’t faint, or that Anton wouldn’t faint, so they agreed on mutual support. Viktor tries not to show how Anton’s prominent ribs scared him. Then they slept, too tired for anything else, and woke up only to have tea, and slept again.</p>
<p>Viktor isn’t sure what time it is, and he doesn’t care much. The streets are so empty and he sees, probably for the first time, just how <em>enormous</em> the Lower Ophir is.</p>
<p>Their fingers are laced—he can even feel that Anton’s fingers are somewhat thinner. Or maybe it’s his own. Anton strokes the back of Viktor’s palm with the pad of his thumb now and again, as though checking he’s really there. Anton isn’t well, there is something about his thermoregulation being off and his sense of taste and smell all wrong. He’s wearing a sweater under his black jacket, the collar turned up—but no gloves. Viktor is just glad to see him out of the hospital gown.</p>
<p>Viktor doesn’t know what all this means. He knows what the kiss meant, but everything else? He knows only what he <em>wants</em> it to mean, even though his training, his duty, everything he knows in his life tell him he shouldn’t want it.</p>
<p>He hears Anton’s phone vibrate two times, and squeezes Anton’s hand. “Time to go back.”</p>
<p>Anton sighs. He looks very mournful. “I want to run the rooftops again.”</p>
<p>Viktor tightens his grip, absurdly scared for a moment, even though Anton can barely keep himself upright. “Not now, probably? Please?”</p>
<p> Anton sighs again. “Not now. Let’s go home.”</p>
<p>Viktor is exhausted by even such a slow, short walk. He planned to try to do some work, but this is out of the question now.</p>
<p>“Tired, sweet one?”</p>
<p>There is no reason to not say the truth now. Not with Anton. “Tired,” he admits.</p>
<p>They go home.</p>
<p>While they were at the hospital, someone has kept the apartment clean and even brought ready meals that can be simply warmed. Someone hoped they would be back—or, Viktor corrects himself, that <em>Anton</em> would be back.</p>
<p>It does feel like home: comfortable and safe. Viktor misses his own apartment, but only because he wants to know how Anton would fit there. He is certain Anton would...</p>
<p>Yet, a sobering thought comes, he cannot know it. Once this is over...</p>
<p>“What is wrong?”</p>
<p>He looks at Anton, at the slight frown. Anton has put the key into the lock but hasn’t turned it. He has simple locks—there is nothing of value that can be stolen and if some burglar helps themself to food, Anton would only be glad.</p>
<p>“Just tired.”</p>
<p>Anton frowns further, as though detecting a lie immediately, but stays silent and opens the door.</p>
<p>Viktor takes off his own jacket, puts it on the hanger, then reaches to Anton. “Let me.” He moves closer, pulls the zipper down carefully. The corridor is small and dark. He can hear Anton’s breath, the slight terrible crackling sound of it. Or maybe it’s his imagination. New nightmares for his mind to conjure.</p>
<p>He pulls the jacket off Anton and hangs it on a hook.</p>
<p>“Vitya.” Anton lifts a hand—then, turns and goes to the bathroom. “Wash hands first.”</p>
<p>Viktor goes to the kitchen, scrubs his hands with soap, splashes water onto his face, and feels somewhat better.</p>
<p>Anton is humming something pleasant—although nearly anything would be pleasant if hummed by Anton. Then, smoothly moving from humming to talking, Anton says without turning to Viktor, “There’s a lazy lasagna, must be from Ez, and cat cookies, only some of them are shaped like, er, an approximation of a dog, I think? So it’s Ez and Žal. There is also a cube of soup...”</p>
<p>“A stock cube?” he clarifies, reaching for plates on the drying rack.</p>
<p>Anton chuckles. “Nope, literally a cube of soup. Look!” He opens the freezer.</p>
<p>Viktor glances into it—and yes, it is literally a cube of soup, very neat, a little murky, with bits of vegetables sprinkled throughout.</p>
<p>“Very inventive,” he notes. There are other containers, both in the freezer and the fridge, a bag of apples, two jars of varenje even though there are jars and jars of it and jams made by Anton. Pickled small onions and jars of homemade sauce.</p>
<p>A whole dish of lasagna. Anton cuts half of it, transfers of heating plate and puts it into the microwave.</p>
<p>Viktor is suddenly aware that he’s hungry. That he’s <em>looking forward</em> to having this meal, and tea, and the weirdly-shaped cookies.</p>
<p>“Vitya?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” Someone has washed the cutlery: forks and spoons are all in the same section of the drying container, not in different ones like both of them put those.</p>
<p>“I... No, it’s nothing.”</p>
<p>He looks at Anton—who reaches up to his neck, and frowns when his hand touches the high collar of the sweater.</p>
<p>“It’s...” Anton sighs. “I want to kiss you. I know you are not—”</p>
<p>He presses his lips to Anton’s.</p>
<p>It’s for comfort, yes—but more than that, it’s a confirmation and a question.</p>
<p>He pulls back. Anton’s face, his eyes are full of surprise and tenderness and disbelief and hope—all the things Viktor doesn’t deserve but apparently has.</p>
<p>Anton reaches up, touches his hair. “Want me to help you cut it?”</p>
<p>He smiles. His heart is both tight and racing. It’s a little painful, and so novel. “Later.” He wants to look and look and look at Anton—Tosha—and be kissed. And touch and be touched.</p>
<p>Tosha’s mouth is beautiful, and his eyes are a wonder, and... Viktor wants to think a thousand silly thoughts unbecoming of Colonel Watcher of the ASC.</p>
<p>Anton smiles. It makes him look soft and a little mischievous. “Vitya.”</p>
<p>“Tosha.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even having a proper meal proves to be a little too much for both of them. Viktor attempts to wash the dishes, but realizes he might drop and shatter something, so he leaves the dishes in the sink, and wipes his hands.</p>
<p>They have another important thing to do, and then they can go to sleep.</p>
<p>He goes to the bathroom, picks the jar with the lotion, and heads to the bedroom. Anton is seated cross-legged on the bed, an old T-shirt stretched over his shoulders, nearly translucent, tattoos like their own print on the fabric.</p>
<p>Viktor hands him the lotion, builds high propping from pillows and piles up three duvets. He tends to steal duvets in his sleep, wrapping them around himself like a cocoon. Anton tends to end up in that cocoon, arms around Viktor. It is very safe.</p>
<p>He slides under the duvets just as Anton finishes rubbing the lotion into his abused hands, closes the jar and moves onto the bed fully. Anton puts the jar on the bedside table, picks his tablet, grabs a pillow and places it on his knees, the tablet on top. Viktor presses himself to Anton’s side, but with their height difference it isn’t exactly comfortable. So he slides lower, then puts his head on Anton’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Anton doesn’t push him away.</p>
<p>Viktor turns the tablet screen on, and hits “Connect”.</p>
<p>The screen is split into four parts, each coming into life in its own time. There is Ezrah, sneering a delighted “The Scary Man!” and another person with him hovering a little nervously—it must be Žaltys. Another screen has Alex, Anton’s senior gang member and, too, one of his children. The third screen shows a woman whose face darkens as she, no doubt, sees Viktor—it is Vlasta. Viktor knows her from very violent encounters between her and Julita. They have a rivalry, bent on killing each other. Julita is home, rather weak but out of danger, hopefully. Anton told Viktor that Vlasta asked about her, so maybe there is not only killing. There is hope for all of them, perhaps.</p>
<p>The fourth screen shows Henry. They look tired, even with the dubious quality of the video, but their smile is genuine.</p>
<p>“Hi, Henry!” Ezrah waves.</p>
<p>“Hello, dear boy,” Henry smiles wider. “Hello, everyone!”</p>
<p>A discordant chorus of greetings answers, and Viktor and Anton join it. Viktor tries to settle more comfortably, and finds that the best position is when he presses himself all along Anton and wraps an arm around him, over his stomach.</p>
<p>“So,” Anton says as the younglings look expectantly, “we are feeling better.” He throws an arm over Viktor’s shoulders, apparently without thinking about it.</p>
<p>Viktor stabilizes the tablet. “And we had a walk! There was nobody around, so people were safe.”</p>
<p>Vlasta frowns even more. “Are you certain you should strain yourself already?”</p>
<p>“We really are better, kitten,” Anton says gently. “Only very tired of lying in bed.”</p>
<p>The video isn’t very good, but Viktor can see how Vlasta’s frown smooths out and she casts her eyes down at “kitten”. Anton calls almost all of his kids “kitten”.</p>
<p>It goes on for a while, like this: worries and stern reminders, news and reassurances. The rate of disease spreading has slowed: the lockdown measures are working. They talk about work, too, because everything is interconnected: the Vory are rightfully worried that strict measures implemented might become an everyday issue, that the government won’t ease out on surveillance, would use new law articles to prosecute not the guilty but those who are uncomfortable for it. And it is refreshing that Vory and agents, even though there are only two of them present, can freely exchange fears and ideas and simple human emotion. <em>How are you? I’m scared. I know you are, too. We are in it together.</em> They truly are.</p>
<p>Henry is the one to notice that pauses between Anton’s replies and Viktor’s ideas become longer, and urge to end the call. They will have tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.</p>
<p>Anton finishes with his now-familiar to Viktor “Love you all very much”. Viktor looks at Henry, and sees them smile as they say: “Look after each other.”</p>
<p>Anton blocks the tablet and stretches to put it on the bedside table, too. “Bed?”</p>
<p>“Already in,” Viktor manages. His eyelids are heavy and he’s comfortable.</p>
<p>Anton switches off the lamp, then moves back. They slide lower onto the pillows, and Viktor turns to tuck his face under Anton’s chin. Anton wraps him in his arms, and Viktor does the same.</p>
<p>He feels Anton’s ribs too well.</p>
<p>“Vitya? I’m glad you are here.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “I’m glad, too. I… don’t know what might happen. But for this, I’m glad.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Same.”</p>
<p>He almost drifts off, but then recalls something. He pulls back a little and kisses Anton blindly, and feels him smile.</p>
<p>“Vitya.”</p>
<p>“Tosha.”</p>
<p>They sleep.</p>
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